


steady as the stars in the woods

by estelares



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Sex Pollen But Not Really, as in spock gets infected by pollen but it's not directly related to sexytimes, but it also is, sex pollen subversion!!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-11-04
Packaged: 2018-04-27 21:02:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5064016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/estelares/pseuds/estelares
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Captain’s Log</i>, Jim makes a mental diary entry. <i>I heard my First Officer sneeze, for the first time in living memory, and we may be upon Armageddon.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _we stood, steady as the stars in the woods_   
>  _so happy-hearted; and the warmth rang true inside these bones ([x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x8ccDb6n5Wg))_

When Spock sneezes, it’s a quiet snuffle of interrupted air and Jim would have missed it completely if he hadn’t stood up and looked over at his First Officer at the exact same moment. 

‘Hhpfft.’

He blinked, shoulders twitching involuntarily as he sneezed – the only giveaway – and then Jim watches in amusement as Spock seems to freeze in surprise, looking downright scandalized that his body is doing things he hadn’t expressly permitted it to do.

Well. As scandalized as a Vulcan can look, anyway. (His eyebrows elevated themselves fractionally.)

 _Captain’s Log,_ Jim makes a mental diary entry. _I heard my First Officer sneeze, for the first time in living memory, and we may be upon Armageddon._  

‘Hey,’ he calls in Spock’s direction, halfway between amused and concerned. ‘You okay? Do I need to comm Bones?’

Spock does not even dignify him with a reply. Jim does, however, receive an impressive eyebrow flick.

‘I’ll take that as a no,’ Jim shouts back cheerfully from the other end of the clearing. Somewhere behind him, Uhura sighs loudly. 

He makes a note to keep a closer eye on Spock for the rest of the landing trip, though, because Vulcans are very adamant on keeping the ‘nothing happens to my body unless I say so’ image, and along with the characteristic stoicism he knows Spock possesses, it means they could potentially be in what he and Bones liked to call a ‘totally FUBAR’ mess before Spock even indicates that something is amiss.

They are at Galilei IV, the smallest planet in the solar system in which they are passing through.

‘It appears that everything on the planet it…some shade of blue,’ Sulu had announced with a slight shrug when they first ran analytics on the Enterprise. ‘But, besides that, everything seems all clear. Non-toxic atmosphere. No evident life-threatening or aggressive fauna to report.’

The main flora of Galilei IV are tiny aquamarine flowers with navy-coloured pollen and cerulean stamen that are entirely uninspiring to Jim – small and growing on every surface, they looked harmless.

The planet itself, however, is beautiful. Galilei IV’s stratosphere is almost completely obstructed by heavy clouds that absorb almost all the light coming from the star it orbits, and once they break through the fog, an awed silence fell about the landing party as they were bathed in a gentle blue glow. Somehow, the planet was making its own light. 

Upon landing, Lieutenant Uhura commented something about it being like stepping into a lightroom, or a neon dance party. Spock had no interest in knowing what either of those things are, and thus reserved comment.

Jim looks at Spock contemplatively, the unusual blue glow of Galilei IV threading his fair hair with blue-green streaks. The light renders Kirk’s features more pronounced, tracing the strong line of his jaw and the curve of his neck. The colour blue suits Jim well.

The soil beneath their feet is coloured a dark navy, almost black. There were crystals – clear rocks, Spock mused – embedded in the ground that emitted blue light, throwing everything else around it into sharp relief. The bodies of water were the same, lit up from below by some mysterious source. Any vegetation encountered also displayed traits of bioluminescence to varying degrees, particularly the tiny flowers observed earlier.

‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen an entirely blue plant before,’ Jim mused, mostly to himself, as they walked around. He held one such flower in his hand, admiring the way the petals glowed in his palm. ‘ I mean, plants back on Earth were green ‘cause of chlorophyll…I wonder what triggered this planet’s flora to produce blue pigment.’

Spock privately agreed with this remark, and accordingly instructed a variety of samples to be collected and sent back to the Enterprise for analysis. Along with everything else interesting encountered, such as the glowing crystals.

It is uncommon that a human makes an observation before he does.

Spock was absently calculating the number of times Jim Kirk noticed something about their destination planet before he did in the past few months when the urge to sneeze overcame him again. He just managed to stifle the sound this time, holding a hand over his mouth for good measure.

Vulcans do not sneeze.

Kirk appeared not to notice. Spock looks over to him and finds him preoccupied with enthusiastically scooping some faintly incandescent blue sand into a small glass vial and tucking it into his collection box, clearly distracted by the serene glowing blueness of the planet.

It must be the pollen, which has been significantly stirred up into the air by their footsteps. He notes that his fingers are tinged with shimmering blue powder, and his eyes were uncomfortably dry, verging on itchy.

So when Ensign Ramirez complains of a severe headache and requests an early return because ‘all this goddamn blue and black light is about to do my head in – ah, I mean, Captain, this planet’s colouring is giving me a migraine, may I have permission to return?’, Spock interrupts Kirk halfway through his standard spiel of ‘if you can’t deal with what’s on a planet don’t volunteer for the expedition’ and excused the ensign on his behalf. He took his leave to accompany the young man to Sickbay himself.

‘Wait, what? You sure you’re okay, Spock?’ Perplexed, Kirk calls to him as he’s about to beamed up.

Spock decides to ignore him.

  

\-- 

 

‘Aw, Spock, it just looks like hayfever. If Vulcans got hayfever, anyhow,’ McCoy sat back on his chair and put the tricorder down on the table. ‘Sneezing, itchy swelling eyes, no other symptoms… Doesn’t look like a going concern. I mean, we’ll run some more tests on the pollen to see what its finer chemical makeup is, but initial tests are all coming up clear for toxins.’

Spock is aware of allergic rhinitis, a human condition where the immune system overreacts to allergens in the air. He has never encountered a substance to which his immune system had an ‘allergic reaction’ to before, and puts it down to the weakness in his human physiology.

Vulcans don’t _have_ allergies.

Spock frowns slightly at the thought, another reminder that his body is betraying him. He strongly dislikes being unable to control his own being – and McCoy can evidently hear his line of thinking.

‘Hey, you’re half human after all. Guess we just didn’t expect you to be allergic to some weird planet’s blue pollen, huh,’ the doctor concludes.

Spock opens his mouth to protest, but McCoy was already on his feet and nearly out the door. ‘C’mon, Spock, as if I’d actually judge you on any part of your physiology. I’m a doctor, I take anything and anybody as they come. Even if they’re a green pointy-eared hobgoblin with whacked up genetic makeup,’ he grins. ‘Come on, off you go. Unlike Jim, I actually have work to do, you know!’

Leonard McCoy is many things, but he is reliably professional when he is required to be. This improves Spock’s mood marginally.

Spock was walking out onto the corridor when McCoy pops his head out of the Sickbay entrance.

‘At least it’s not sex pollen!’ He calls out, cackling, and quickly ducks his head back in.

Spock definitely ignores him (and the statement) as he headed back for the bridge.

 

\--

 

The sneezing persists, hours after the landing party returned. 

Soon, it was followed by a buzzing ache behind his temporal lobe that steadily worsened into a pounding, screeching migraine. It makes Spock increasingly more irritable, frustrated at his inability to maintain an optimal level of concentration. He can barely hear himself think. While Spock has successfully mastered the art of sneeze-suppression, he feels tense, wary of Jim or any other crewmember becoming aware of his strange affliction and attempting to offer their help. Spock really hates it when his body isn’t doing what it’s supposed to do.

When Spock is in a bad mood, he has far lower tolerance for the errors of others.

As for Jim, he had been wondering about Spock’s tiny sneeze ever since Spock took his leave with Ramirez; wondering if this was something Spock’s trying to hide from everybody again. Spock was always one for stoic and silent suffering.

Not that there was really anything to be concerned about, Jim thought as he sat on his chair and listened to the various reports coming in from the analysis of Galilei IV.

Spock is acting more aloof than usual, speaking the minimum amount of words required to make himself understood when approached by others. But it’s not really anything of particular concern, so Jim leaves it be.

It only occurred to Jim that something may be seriously amiss when Spock manages to leave an ensign in tears from over-criticism of a minor mistake they had made. 

Jim quietly steps over and excuses the ensign, who was still stammering their apologies. He sends them away and looks pointedly at Spock.

‘Commander.’

He can feel the chatter and commotion usually present on the bridge fade to silence. Very much like children who just realized their parents are fighting, he notes distantly with amusement.

Spock, for all his pride upon procedure, only stares right back at Jim, as if daring him to voice criticism. His expression was unreadable.

Jim racks his brain as to what he should say.

‘Everything ok?’ That’s about all he manages, feeling slightly lost for words. Spock isn’t usually this cold. Not to him, at least. Jim had always thought that…well. Perhaps Jim was mistaken on that.

‘Affirmative, Captain.' 

And with that, Spock goes back to ignoring everybody.

The concern grows inside him, but Jim knows there’s no real rational cause for his worrying. Besides, alpha shift is ending soon.

Spock disappears as soon as the termination of the shift is announced.

So naturally, the first thing Jim does when he is off duty is march to Sickbay. Spock is nothing if not responsible, and Jim is certain he would have checked in with Bones if he suspected he was getting sick.

 

‘Bones, Bones! Hey, did Spock stop by when he came back from Galilei IV?’

McCoy gives him a long-suffering sigh as he looked up from the PADD he was making notes on.

‘Hi, Jim, it’s nice to see you too. I’m doing fine, actually, thanks for asking.’

Jim pouts at his CMO, who rolled his eyes. ‘Yes. And he’s fine. Nothing major.’

‘Yeah, but what was up?’ McCoy waves his hand at Jim’s face dismissively, as if he was trying to dissipate the question. Jim, being Jim, only becomes more insistent. ‘Was it the sneezing? Is it pollen? Is he dying? Vulcans don’t sneeze, Bones!’

  
McCoy raises an eyebrow. ‘You know, technically I’m not meant to tell you anything about this. Doctor patient confidentiality and all that.’

Jim frowns, interpreting his words as a challenge.

‘Technically, as captain of the ship – ‘ He starts.

‘YOU ARE LITERALLY THE REASON WHY DOCTOR-PATIENT CONFIDENTIALITY EXISTS,’ McCoy yells over Jim’s protestations, completely exasperated. Jim is so good at getting in his hair and distracting him from things he’s meant to be doing. ‘For Christ’s sake. Go ask him yourself.’

‘But Bones,’ Jim whines as McCoy bodily pushes him out of his office.

‘But nothing, you brat. Stop trying to get me fired.’ 

 

\--

 

Spock awakes in a sitting position, finding himself cross-legged on the floor and in the middle of his quarters. Startled, he checks the time. Three point seven hours have lapsed since the end of the last alpha shift.

He must have fallen asleep during a healing trance. While this is unusual, Spock is mostly relieved that his headache has finally subsided, and mercifully, he no longer feels the need to sneeze.

Spock considers updating McCoy about his symptoms, but decides against it. There was a human saying about no news being good news, after all.

He doesn’t realise what has changed until the next morning, when he finally leaves his quarters.

On his way to the bridge, Spock passes a couple of junior officers, chattering and laughing amongst themselves. The laughter crystallises in the air before Spock’s eyes, scattering flecks of bright azure across the hallway.

Bemused, he stops to observe this curious phenomenon. The crewmen notice his staring, and to Spock’s surprise, the colour twists into a sharp yellow as they eyed him fearfully, whispering among one another. Clearly news of his bad temper from yesterday has spread.

It seems that the officers cannot themselves see these colours. Spock nods once at them, before proceeding down the hall.

Very curious.

‘Spock!’ Kirk calls out to him cheerfully as soon as the doors slide open. His voice rang out across the room, a translucent green. ‘Feeling better?' 

‘Captain,’ he acknowledges quietly as he approaches Kirk, feeling a slight tinge of guilt. ‘I must apologise for my conduct yesterday – ’

Kirk shakes his head dismissively. ‘Nah, Spock, it’s fine, everybody has their grumpypants moments now and again.’

 _Pants?_ Spock does not believe he has heard this particular human expression before. He makes a remark to the effect that adjectives are not usually clothing to Kirk, who seems to have been waiting for this very response, and is laughing in shades of blue, twists of cerulean and cadmium curling and weaving, edges slowly dissipating. His eyes, crinkled with amusement, are the very same colour.

‘I’m just glad you’re okay.’

He says something else that Spock didn’t hear over his own confusion, pats Spock once on the shoulder before returning to his post.

Thoroughly bemused, Spock watches the curls of blue manifest like solidified sound that nobody else could see.

On the bridge, conversation was mingling and interweaving quietly, amber and ochre in the air, punctuated with bursts of minty green laughter. 

Everyone was clearly in a good mood, and Spock has never deemed himself a willing ‘pooper of parties’. Or whatever the phrase is meant to be.

For the most part, it plays no role in affecting his performance capacity as First Officer, so Spock decides to pay it no attention. To an extent, this reminded him of being a child, unable to control his mental barriers and experiencing emotional transfers with everybody and everything he touched. However, what differs in this case is that there appear to be no emotional disturbance involved in the appearance of the colours, which seem to be more related to sound and speech rather than thoughts. As it was playing a negligible role on his ability to fulfil his duties, Spock deems there was no need to report this anomaly.

He does, however, file a mental note away to research the significance of colours in relation to psy-sensitive beings. When he has time.

But by and large, Spock concludes at the end of the day, the colours seem to pose no visible threat. Nor did they seem to be of any benefit.

 

\--

 

It is not long before Spock finds out that his assumptions were far from correct.

 

It occurs to Spock midway through an average diplomatic mission, standing slightly behind Kirk as the Captain ran his standard set of briefed materials, talking about the Federation, trade deals and negotiations for resources. Hoping to make a new ally in the universe, as they have done plenty of times. 

The leader of Delta Nova II is speaking pleasantly in response, their native tongue translated smoothly by the Starfleet issue universal translators. The planet is one known to the Federation for some time, but no substantial diplomatic contact was attempted until now. The leaders had indicated that they were happy to initiate a trade relationship for minerals, subject to several conditions that the parties were willing to negotiate on. There were no indications of hostility, and there was no reason to suspect so. 

Except Spock derived what could only be described as a ‘bad feeling’ (in Jim Kirk terms) by the way the aforementioned leader spoke, the sounds twisting into grey ominous haze before Spock’s very eyes. He could almost taste the smoke in the air. Spock suspected that the words spoken were not entirely true.

 

After all, when there is smoke, there is fire.

 

However, the Captain nor any other Starfleet member of the mission seemed to share any similar concerns, and without anything more concrete to support his claims, Spock dismissed the irrational suspicion and resolved to stay on high alert, just in case.

(When Spock raised this with Kirk as a quiet aside, he shrugged. ‘I don’t think anything’s particularly off,’ Kirk said breezily. ‘You worry too much, Mister Spock.’)

The fire arrives almost exactly twenty point three minutes later out in the rocky grasslands of Delta Nova II in the form of laser beams, just after Jim had joked to him that ‘see, nothing was wrong at all, what’s with the long face, we’ll be back on the ship in like, two seconds’.  

There was not a single Deltarian in sight.

‘Shit, what the hell?’ Absolute chaos broke out as the crew scattered and their training kicked in. Kirk swore loudly and dived for cover, scrambling for his phaser.

Spock crouched behind a boulder, attempting to identify the source of the attack. A line of oncoming fire just grazes his shoulder as he chances a glance out from his hideout. 

Testing a theory, Spock throws his arm out – still behind the large boulder – and then quickly draws it back to his side.

Within seconds, the part of boulder behind which he waved his arm was hit with an energy beam that shattered it to smithereens.

It is likely that the enemy is operating through finely tuned motion sensors.

'Scotty,' He hears Kirk yell over the sounds of shooting and cracking rocks. 'What are you waiting for!?'

Seconds after Kirk's words, Spock hears the sounds of the transporter beam. He knows that Engineer Scott cannot beam them all up at once.

It is also likely that while they have a vague idea of where Spock is, the others, should they remain still, would be safe.

Another round of lasers strike nearby, searching.

‘This is Spock speaking. Listen carefully. _You must not move._ Your life depends on it.’ Spock snapped harshly over his communication line while holding himself as still as possible. Cutting off Kirk’s spluttered reply, he contacts the Enterprise. ‘Engineer Scott, beam the Captain and the others up. _Now_.’ 

‘Aye aye, Commander, ’m working as fast as I can!’ Came the panicked reply, crackling lightning yellow over the transmitter. Distantly, he could hear the sound of the transporter’s dematerialization beam.

A few more beams of energy strike the ground around him, one managing to slice through his calf. The level of pain and amount of blood present indicates it has most likely come into contact with a major artery.

Sensing he is running out of options, Spock aims his entire bodyweight to a much larger boulder nearby, and flings himself across. The energy beam misses him by another fraction, and within seconds is shooting at the boulder in front of Spock once more. Spock calculates that in three point four seconds, the boulder will be disintegrated. 

‘Gotcha, Commander,’ Scotty’s triumphant cry is the last thing he hears over the transmitter before his feet land themselves back on the transporter platform on the Enterprise.

 

It is very bright. Spock blinks, beginning to feel lightheaded from the pain in his leg and the loss of blood.

Blue eyes bright and frantic, Jim is onto him in a flash. Spock feels himself lifted and placed gently onto a stretcher. There is a lot of noise.

There were so many colours in Jim’s words, relieved, terrified and reproachful all at once, rushing over him in yellows and reds and greens, tinged with another colour that he couldn’t quite identify in his dazed state, adrenaline draining from his body as relief seeped in.

‘Holy shit, Spock, what the hell, _why_ did you tell Scotty to beam us up first, how did you know they were hostile, _oh my god,_ you’re bleeding so much, _fuck_  –’

McCoy may have stepped in at some point and administered a hypospray, but Spock couldn’t be sure. He drifts into a welcoming darkness, following the thread of Jim’s voice like a single coloured ribbon, flying in the wind.

  

\--

  

When he wakes up on a bed in Sickbay, there is a faint ache in his left calf. Upon inspection, his shoulder cut has been completely healed. His movement triggered a sound that he could hear in the next room.

The door slides open a few seconds later. ‘Nice of you to join us again,’ McCoy huffs as he strides in, tricorder in hand. Spock can see that he is still worried, the telltale dark green threading through his words. He blinks at the doctor in response.

‘Good thing you’ve told us about how healing trances work,’ McCoy continues gruffly. ‘We were convinced you flatlined for a moment back then.’

He pauses. Spock could see that he feels conflicted, the flickering colours moving quickly in the air in front of him. 

‘And by we, I meant Jim.’

Spock continues to stare at him, wondering where he was going with this. McCoy levels his own stare right back at Spock, and gave him a long look. He sighed tiredly. 

‘Well, Commander, after a quick checkup I think you’re good to go. For the sake of all of us, please…don’t do that again.’

Spock thought about countering his remark and saying that his primary duty is to his Captain and crew and to keep them safe and that was exactly what he did.

As McCoy walked around him, Spock could see his concern trailing viridian and shimmering green in his wake, and decided against that course of action, which would only be unnecessary aggravation for the doctor. He only says a few words of thanks to McCoy on his way out.

He begins to pay much more attention to the changing colours - to the tones and shades in normal conversations, the inflections and flickers in a smile, a touch. When a flash of panicky yellow appears above Uhura’s hands as she nearly drops a glass of water, when Ensign Chekhov laughs, happy and candy apple red upon the sight of a repaired mechanical failure under his efforts, and when McCoy is worried (too often) but he never says anything, the only indication being the powdery viridian green that appears in his gestures and his voice as he grumbles good-naturedly through his work.

 

Spock finds himself paying particular attention to the colours associated with Jim Kirk.

Because, the interesting thing is, his strange new ability to perceive the moods of others through colour, while proven to have been very helpful in escaping diplomatic crises and in conveniently showing him the mental state of those around him without needing to touch them, have made his relationship with Kirk more complicated. 

It's not that he can't read the colours on Jim.

It's far from that. Jim Kirk is a very energetic person by nature, and as a human, experiences unbridled emotions strongly and without restraint, so much that sometimes Spock can’t even begin see half of them clearly before they disappear. 

_Jim laughing with McCoy over a human 'popular culture' reference that no one else understands, the words drifting venetian red and incomprehensible above their heads. Jim when he first sees Spock after his most recent stay in Sickbay post-Delta Nova II, his sharp relief washing over Spock with bright, overjoyed overtones of marigold that line his words. Jim's grin, a sheen of bubbly champagne gold in the rare moments that he bests Spock in a game of chess. Jim’s thoughts washing over him – warm orange sunsets and blue rippling waves – sitting side by side and sipping coffee from the replicator, as they talked about the events of the day in their daily debrief (a routine that had arisen, unspoken, after the first time Jim joined Spock's side on the observation deck with two coffees in hand after a particularly testing day.)_

 

It's just that there is one particular colour.

_Jim turning to smile at Spock without warning, threads of translucent indigo glowing at the edges._

It’s not a mood, or an emotion – or so it seems to Spock, because it seeps through every little movement Kirk makes; and it’s not possible for anyone to hold on to one mood permanently, _especially_  not this man, who gets distracted at the drop of a hat. 

But there’s always this shade that always hangs around when Spock is there. It shimmers at the corner of his eye and flutters past him teasingly – and even more confusingly, when he’s with Jim he sees on himself too; a lavender flash past his eyelashes, stained lilac on the tips of his fingers, ghosting at his wrist and pattering with his footsteps like falling rain – 

_And sometimes, on quiet days, Jim would be sitting in Spock’s quarters, unusually still, perched on a stool on the other side of the chessboard – and he would look at Spock with a soft, warm expression in his eyes, goldenrod sunlight carding through his hair; borrowed light from a nearby star system. Shards of an almost luminous violet scatters around them that only Spock can see – then, whatever Spock was going to say gets caught halfway out of his mouth and he has to suppress this strange, fluttering feeling in his side and distract Jim by checkmating his king._

He doesn't see the same colour anywhere else, with anybody else.

It's is strangely beautiful, and hauntingly familiar – but always just out of his reach.

 


	2. Chapter 2

In hindsight, perhaps it was obvious that something would happen on the day of Kirk’s birthday.

It is not that the celebration of birthdays on the Enterprise is not encouraged. An important human tradition usually celebrated with family and friends, it was common knowledge that birthday festivities are permitted on the Enterprise, provided that they are during break-hours and do not breach regulations, put any crewmember in immediate harm, nor affect their day-to-day performance capacity.

Admiral Pike had shrugged when Spock had brought it up with him in the past, questioning the necessity of the unspoken tradition.

‘The people on the ship are the only family they have in the literal-middle-of-nowhere for the next god-knows-how-many years, Spock. It’s only fair, and quite a big morale boost, if you want to see it that way.’

Spock does concede to the logic, since it is clear that most abroad the Enterprise immensely enjoy celebrating their own birthdays and the birthdays of others, often going to great lengths to procure meaningful gifts for their friends.

For example, upon Uhura’s most recent birthday, she was presented with a potted shrub of flowering Antarian moon blossoms, the product of a covert collective effort of many crewmembers, with much help from the botany team on the Enterprise headed by Hikaru Sulu. The lieutenant had reportedly fallen in love with their scent during one particular shore leave in the Delta Quadrant, and, being extremely rare flora, had often since then expressed wishes to cultivate some of her own, as a hobby. For his birthday, Chief Medical Officer McCoy was gifted with a bottle of home-brewed bourbon, made from real Terran corn and malted barley. This was a joint effort on the part of Engineer Scott and one starship Captain – with no insignificant personal interest in brewing their own alcohol in the process, Spock had remarked to them dryly – by building a compact, discreet distillery in one of the engine rooms. McCoy’s delight was very evident, and had improved his mood considerably for the next few weeks.

Kirk loves celebrating birthdays for his friends, Spock has observed. He revels in the happiness of others, and appeared extraordinarily pleased with himself when McCoy clapped him on the back with obvious excitement and dragged him off to enjoy the bourbon along with Engineer Scott and several others, and ‘so you can bitch about the pointy-eared ball and chain’.

Kirk had smiled at him then, eyes sparkling and laughter ringing out sapphire blue, golden with true happiness, and Spock found that he didn’t quite mind the backhanded insult.

However, every year, when it comes to Kirk’s own birthday, nobody really knows what to do. The same day, so many years ago, of the first  _Narada_  incident with the _U.S.S. Kelvin_ , when James T. Kirk became a legend before he was even an hour old. Before he even knew his own name, hundreds and thousands of others already did. 

Kirk, unsurprisingly, usually ignores the fact that it’s his own birthday when he is on duty, and naturally the crew follows accordingly.

It was also a well-known fact on the ship that every year the Captain usually retires to his own quarters after his shift, and ends up passed out mysteriously in a locked meeting room somewhere on the Enterprise. It is usually McCoy who locates him and takes him to Sickbay or back to his quarters, depending on the situation.

Spock usually keeps his distance on those days, only assisting McCoy in locating Kirk when required, understanding the experience of loss but not quite understanding exactly how to offer _human_ comfort in the way that Kirk needs.

As much as he recognises the irrationality of his views, Spock can’t help but feel useless when his Captain, who has always selflessly led his crew, who never hesitates to help others – even if it means putting his own self at risk, and absolutely hates to see others suffer – in so much emotional turmoil himself, every year.

As much as he knows, logically, that it is the Captain’s own burden to bear, and it is not his inherent obligation to help, Spock can’t help but form a hypothesis that perhaps his newly acquired ability will be of assistance. Admittedly, he is also curious to observe more of the glowing indigo threads he always catches when Spock is around Kirk.

He makes up his mind when he first sees Kirk on that day – as he expected, Spock can see the whirling crash of colours around Kirk’s head before Jim even opens his mouth. As Kirk spoke to a yeoman calmly and cheerfully, for Spock it was like watching a screen with faulty communication signals, red-brown-black crackling and splitting, rough-edged and pained.

Spock wondered if that’s what Kirk hid underneath his overly cheerful demeanor every year.

 _Grief and loneliness are two of the most universal emotions, Spock,_ his mother had said to him once as a child on Vulcan.

Perhaps this is what she meant.

‘Captain,’ he begins, more hesitant than he would have preferred to sound.

Kirk whirls around almost instantly, the colours sparking white with surprise. ‘Hey, Spock! What’s up?

He grins expectantly at Spock, bright and pale blue, but the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Later, Spock would note his own disproportionate nervousness during this interaction. But in the moment, he was carefully watching Kirk’s anxious, frazzled swirling emotions.

‘I was wondering if you would be amenable to a game of chess this evening?’

Spock knows that no other crewmember on the bridge is paying attention to them, too immersed in their own individual tasks.

Kirk stares at him with wide eyes and a slight frown. Spock stands his ground, more than eighty percent sure he had read the colours correctly.

 _Ultramarine,_ Spock observes. The splitting, crackling angry reds and blacks fade. It appears to have been the right question to ask.

‘Spock, I…well,’ Kirk hesitates, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. On another day Spock thinks there would be a high likelihood that Kirk would be teasing Spock, making jokes about Spock having a crush on him, asking him out on a ‘chess date’ with a sharp toothy grin and a large quantity of winks, but today Kirk’s voice is quiet, colours muted.

 _Your colours indicate you would desire company, despite your established pattern of conduct preferencing solitude_. In an ideal world, this is what Spock would say. However, in the interests of being taken seriously, he decides that perhaps Kirk required more justification that this was not, in fact, a gesture of pity or an ambush.

‘It has been quite some time since the last – ’

Before he could say anything else, it’s like someone flipped on a switch in a dark room, and Kirk smiles again like a flash of lightning – a real smile this time, eyes warming – like he wasn’t actually planning to smile but couldn’t quite help himself in the end.

‘Sure, Commander. Your quarters at nineteen hundred?’ His tone was still subdued, but Kirk’s eyes held a glimmer of brightness.

Spock almost smiles in return as he notices the strangely nervous scattering colours Kirk was wearing instead, bright neon and stormy dark at the same time, edged with a shimmery indigo that was not present before their conversation.

Jim Kirk revels in the happiness of others. In a limited extent now, Spock can understand why.

He nods an affirmative and strides off to resume his station, feeling more satisfied than he was perhaps entitled to.

 

\--

 

If Spock couldn’t see it in Kirk’s colours before, the bewildered gratitude Kirk felt towards Spock was clear when Kirk didn’t even complain about the thermostat setting in Spock’s quarters upon his entrance. Not a single word. Spock suspected that he never quite minded anyway.

Much quieter than usual, Kirk is looking at Spock somewhat warily as he settles into his customary chess-playing chair next to the viewing deck in Spock’s quarters. The expanse of the universe stretches out before them.

Kirk is absentmindedly biting his bottom lip as he inspects pieces from Spock’s chess set.

‘It really has been a while, huh.’

Spock observes that the hair on his head sticking up in several directions as if Kirk has been running nervous hands through them not too long ago.

Never one to forget human customs common in greeting house guests, celebrating birthdays and socialising with friends, Spock reaches into a concealed cupboard door near the replicator wall that he had requested to be installed in his quarters.

‘Captain. Before we begin, would you care for some wine?’

Kirk almost laughs, the sound bubbling out of his throat. Spock observes as it manifests into glowing lavender threads, interlaced with Kirk’s emotions. He seems happy. ‘Spock, you literally never approve when I –’ He stops and looks closer at the bottle of shining blue liquid in Spock’s right hand.

‘Wait, is that what I think it is?’

Spock doesn’t reply, merely pouring some into a glass to offer Jim.

‘Perhaps you should try some before you jump to conclusions, Captain.’

If you asked Jim Kirk what he was seeing right this moment, he would say that Spock was looking at him _fondly,_ like he was almost about to smile; like he was indulging Jim. And everybody knows Vulcans never smile.

Kirk accepts the proffered glass with a crooked grin, putting his nose to the rim of the glass experimentally before carefully taking a sip. His eyebrows shoot up to his hairline.

‘Spock! _Romulan wine?!’_

After pouring some for himself, Spock privately enjoys the delight in Kirk's eyes as he hands Kirk the bottle and sits himself down on the opposite side of the chessboard. 

‘It was a gift I received several years ago,’ Spock explains. ‘You are aware that I don’t usually consume alcohol. However, it would have been impolite to refuse.’

Kirk snorts, his amusement sparking bright cherry red as he takes another sip, clearly savouring the taste. ‘Are you seriously engaging in the practice of _re-gifting_ , Mister Spock? I’m seriously flattered, you know –’

‘I see nothing wrong with sharing a gift I received with someone who I know will appreciate it more than I, Captain,’ Spock counters evenly as he samples the liquid himself. Kirk simply smirks at him, evidently too preoccupied by his beverage to come up with a response.

Romulan wine is well known for its unique tangy sweetness, and its unusually high alcohol content for fruit-based alcohol. While Spock’s Vulcan physiology and rapid metabolism means it has a negligible effect on him, he is aware that humans are more susceptible. 

Kirk already looks slightly inebriated, smiling at him openly from the other side of the table. It’s a quiet midnight blue, serene and content like the stars from their window. And then, there was that colour again. Indigo, this time.

_Very interesting._

Spock reasons with himself that, even if the Captain was to imbibe enough alcohol to render him intoxicated, it is better to do so under his watch than revert to his usual habit of self-inflicted alcohol poisoning in some under-utilised meeting room on the ship.

He carefully avoids mentioning anything relating to Kirk’s birthday, and Kirk himself doesn’t say a word either.

The game of chess itself is unremarkable – enjoyable, of course, as it always is with Kirk. Aside from Ensign Chekhov (who shyly professed disinterest in the game after Spock had offered to show other crewmembers – Uhura claims it’s because to the average person, Spock is too intimidating to sit across and move chess pieces against, a statement that is entirely unfounded), Jim Kirk is perhaps the only opponent he has encountered on the ship who Spock derives any intellectual stimulation playing against.

Of course, under the influence of the Romulan wine, Kirk’s tactics are sloppy and his movements are loose, melting against his chair and constantly laughing, apparently finding it amusing that Spock is easily defeating him.

Spock finds that he does not mind.

Kirk is smiling at him still, elbow resting on the table, leaning slightly towards him, head propped up by a hand. The atmosphere is easy, companionable, and suffused with warmth. He hiccups with delighted laughter when he snags Spock’s knight with a pawn, and Kirk’s smile only gets wider.

In fact, Spock finds himself mesmerized, wanting to hear that sound from Jim again, and again.

Somewhere in the back of his head, this sounds illogical and overly possessive. However, shards of soft glowing purple was filling the room, not unlike Terran fireflies on a midsummer night – and Spock is caught, fascinated by the lights that only he can see.

By the time their game had finished, Jim had almost singlehandedly finished off more than half of the bottle of wine.

Spock was about to suggest that perhaps Jim should retire to his quarters when Jim clears his throat awkwardly and looks at his feet.

The silence stills Spock’s thoughts, and he watches as Jim’s emotions shimmer and twist before his eyes.

‘You know, honestly, I don’t think I’ve been this happy on my birthday in literal _years_ ,’ Jim says quietly, with a tinge of something else in his voice. ‘Bones tries, but he doesn’t really know what to do and usually deals with the aftermath.’

Spock does not know how to respond adequately, and hence replies, ‘It was no trouble for me, Captain.’

Jim smiles at him like Spock missed something important in that exchange. His colours were warm but darkening, with ribbons of lilac and silver tangled in his words. Spock finds that he once again does not quite understand.

‘Thanks, Spock,’ Jim was speaking again. ‘…but I should show myself out before Bones comes in and tries to carry me back again, hah – ’

As Jim stands up and straightens out his rumpled shirt, the effect of the alcohol seems to catch him off guard and he stumbles slightly, throwing an arm out for balance.

Spock is immediately in front of him; ready to catch Jim should he trip over and fall.

‘This is what happens when humans sit down for too long, Spock,’ Jim winces as he tries to shake his right foot, appearing slightly embarrassed. ‘Bet Vulcans never have circulation issues. Or alcohol issues. Or balance…’ he trails off.

Spock will never know if Jim did this on purpose – but, he _was_ standing at quite close proximity to Spock and evidently more intoxicated than Spock had estimated.

But somehow, in that moment, Jim sighs, inches slightly closer and kind of just… _falls_ into Spock.

His arms come up automatically around Jim to prevent him from falling any further towards the ground, but before Spock can maneuver Jim into a proper standing position and help him return to his own quarters, Jim is holding him in a tight hug, nestling his face into the dip in Spock’s collarbone.

Spock freezes immediately at the sensation of Jim’s body pressed flush against his. The emotional transfer he receives is startling – a crush of emotions, whirling and tumbling through Jim’s mind like an unsettled ocean. His intoxicated state, of course, did nothing to help the situation. Spock steadies his mental shields with unnecessary firmness before assessing the situation.

With his arms wrapped around Spock and hair over his eyes, Jim looks like a lost child. Leaning against the wall, Spock feels a sudden rush of fierce, protective affection for this strange, remarkable human who laughs in the face of danger and blatantly disregards Starfleet Academy protocol, whose kneejerk reactions have saved them countless times and whose mind is brighter and more compassionate than any other Spock has ever known and yet apparently insists on hiding a gaping chasm of vulnerabilities and pain within him, concealed by a cocky attitude and some shiny bravado. 

‘Spock, I – sorry, I just…’ He realizes that Jim has started trembling slightly, face still hidden in the fabric of Spock’s shirt. Remembering a soothing technique his mother used when he was a child, Spock begins to gingerly run his hands up and down Jim’s back. This seems to be effective, until Jim, still resting most of his body weight against Spock, starts mumbling into his collar about there being _so much blood_ and –

‘I can’t stop thinking about it, Spock, I nearly got you killed and it was so _-_ _I’m_ so stupid for not listening –’

Spock wants to sit Jim down on a chair and thoroughly discuss the reasons why the ambush on Delta Nova II was absolutely no fault of his, but recognised that it would not be very effective in Jim’s current state. Besides, away from the curious eyes of others, Spock cannot say that he does not enjoy this unfamiliar feeling of having Jim tucked up against the curve of his shoulder, his fair hair tickling Spock’s nose.

‘Like, I… I always thought – or imagined – that if I was to ever lose you, it better be some fuckin’ boss alien warlord who kills me first or an intergalactic battle or somethin’ equally epic, y’know?’

Spock is unsure of the connection between the value of his life and the seriousness of a potential conflict situation, but endeavours to assuage Jim’s concerns nevertheless.

‘Captain, I received timely medical assistance and successfully recovered – ‘

The arms around him tighten and Jim’s colours flicker in a moment of clarity.

‘You should have seen yourself, Spock, fuck, Bones said you lost more than half your blood, I was soaked in your blood getting you to Sickbay, you would have been dead half a minute later, I _can’t_ – ’

Jim’s voice is shaky and his hands are wound around Spock’s midriff, grabbing fistfuls of fabric; the purple-blue colour Spock sees now is increasingly brightening in the room around them, saturating Jim’s words when he speaks, half-muffled in the fabric of Spock’s clothes.

‘Captain,’ Spock tries again. ‘It is expected in the course of duty –’ he stops with a surprised frown as Jim’s voice echoes in his mind with alarming force.

_I can’t lose you like that, do you understand, Spock?_

The pollen must be interfering with his shielding ability more than he had anticipated. Deeming it a problem he will solve later, the ideas that have been floating in Spock’s head about the glowing threads of indigo begin to crystallise.

‘I think,’ Spock murmurs, lifting a hand to rest his fingertips at Jim’s temple and focusing his mind. ‘…that you are in need of rest, Captain.’

This isn’t playing fair, but Spock justifies it as being an extraordinary situation, as well as for the best interests of Jim’s wellbeing. Without contacting Jim’s thoughts, Spock reaches into his mind and smooths out the tangled mess of Jim’s emotions in one mental sweep.

‘You don’t understand,’ Jim is still mumbling as Spock gently draws him into a deep sleep, tips of his fingers lingering at Jim’s hairline.

 

 

\--

 

 

Jim wakes up from the best night’s sleep he has possibly ever had still dressed in what he was wearing the night before – with the exception of his shoes and socks, which have been removed and placed neatly by the foot of his bed. 

Amazingly, he has woken up unusually early and there was a substantial amount of time before he has to be at the bridge. As Jim peels the old clothes off him and gets ready to shower, he tries to remember what happened the night before. 

That’s right, Spock had been acting all weirdly polite yesterday and randomly invited him back to his quarters for chess. They hadn’t played together in ages, and Jim was pleased that Spock had actually taken the initiative and asked him because Jim actually had been reading up on some chess manuals in his spare time ever since Spock completely decimated him the last time they played and –

Suddenly, everything else comes flooding back.

It was his birthday, and he was feeling like shit all morning until Spock had extended the invitation and made Jim inadvertently forget about why he was even upset in the first place.

Jim remembers Spock sharing the Romulan wine with him (something that must have literally cost somebody an arm and some legs), Jim getting his ass handed to him by Spock in their chess game, Jim also beyond caring at that point because the wine was _so damn good_ , the look in Spock’s eyes when he couldn’t stop laughing at how badly he was doing, the alcohol buzzing warm and heady within him, melting into the chair as the night went on –

Jim remembers standing up and getting ready to leave, remembers tripping on something and somehow deciding it would be a good idea to take one more step and fall face-first into Spock’s chest – he always got _way_ too touchy when drunk.

 _Wow,_ Spock must hate him. Jim probably violated some cardinal sin for Vulcan personal space and Spock probably doesn’t want to talk to him ever again.

He doesn’t remember much of what happened after that, but Spock must have somehow managed to get him back to his quarters and put him to bed.

Flushing with embarrassment, Jim curses as he steps into the shower and turns the water on. 

‘Way to fuck everything up,’ Jim mutters to himself as he soaps his hair.

It’s not his fault Spock is so goddamn attractive and perfect but also _monumentally_ self sacrificing; Jim has been having nightmares about Spock dying in a pool of his own blood ever since _that_ incident and never had the balls to actually talk to Spock about how seeing him keel over that day on the transporter platform, his green blood gushing out of a cut on his leg from trying to save everybody else made Jim want to blow up the entire planet responsible, Prime Directive be damned. The shock of how just how easily he could lose Spock at any given moment was kind of earth-shattering.

‘Just cause he’s Vulcan doesn’t mean he’s invincible,’ Bones had said, shaking his head at Jim when he was sitting in his office getting treated for bruising and washing Spock’s blood off his clothes. Bones had given Jim something to stop him from going into shock and told him to stop babbling about how Spock is going to die ( _because he isn’t, you hear me?_ McCoy had snapped at Jim. _Scotty got him just in time.)_

‘You should remember that when you’re considering whether you’re actually going to admit your massive embarrassing crush on the guy,’ Bones had also mentioned matter-of-factly, giving Jim’s shoulder a light pat.

Jim also kind of wants to punch himself in the face.

He steps out of the shower, shaking water from his ears.

Spock deserves better, anyhow.

 

 --

 

 

As it turns out, true to Jim’s expectations, Spock practically ignores him for the entire day, only speaking to him when absolutely necessary.

It reminds him of the time a few weeks back when Spock got some weird allergic reaction to blue pollen and was grumpy at everybody – but of course, only this time it’s obvious Spock doesn’t want to have contact with him ever again after Jim rudely forced himself into Spock’s personal space last night and drank all his wine.

Jim thinks he should maybe try and be conciliatory – say something nice, apologise profusely maybe – but Spock never gave him a chance, always engaged with something more important and vanishing when he wasn’t required on the bridge.

‘He _hates_ me,’ Jim practically wails, arriving unannounced in McCoy’s office in Sickbay after the alpha shift. ‘Spock asked me to play chess with him and I got drunk and _ruined everything_ , Bones.’

McCoy rolls his eyes and makes a mental note to program his door to warn him when Jim decides to turn up uninvited again, since they haven’t designed anything that Jim can’t manage to hack eventually. 

‘I take it the birthday date didn’t go down well?’

Jim stops midway through complaining and looks at him with a blank expression. ‘Birthday date?’

McCoy thinks if he rolled his eyes any harder they’d do a three-sixty around his eye sockets. He speaks as slowly and deliberately as he can manage.

‘Jim. It was your birthday. Yesterday. Spock asked you to play chess. With him. In his quarters. On your birthday.’ 

‘Honestly,’ McCoy shakes his head at Jim, who looks completely floored by this revelation. ‘Islands of brilliance and fuckin’ oceans of ignorance you are, James Tiberius Kirk.’

Jim is still gaping at him, standing two feet from the door.

McCoy resists the urge to go over there and give his forehead a good flick.

‘If you go and apologise right now, you might still have a chance,’ he says instead, and before he finishes his sentence Jim’s footsteps were already echoing down the hall.

 

 

\--

 

 

It is only when the entrance to Spock’s quarters slide open that Jim realizes he hasn’t really thought about how he was going to do this.

If Spock does hate him, Jim will have to live with that, but at least Spock should agree that their crew deserve a united command team and –

‘Captain?’

From the middle of the room, Spock is looking at him questioningly, hands behind his back and expression completely unreadable.

Jim’s mouth makes the executive decision just to run with it and he is speaking in a rush, words coming out all at once.

 ‘Listen, Spock, I’m really sorry about last night, I was a fucking asshole and you deserve to be mad at me but I really value our working relationship and I don’t want this to ruin anything and – I’m sorry,’ he finishes lamely, attempting a smile in Spock’s direction.

‘Can we just – you know, pretend I never fucked up and –’

‘ _Jim._ ’ Spock breathes the word out gently in response, holding him still with his gaze.

Spock never calls him Jim.

Jim’s stomach drops and suddenly his mouth is very dry. Something fizzes in the pit of his stomach, like misplaced anticipation. What the hell is Spock doing?

In the half-light of the room Spock looks almost predatory. He walks towards Jim purposefully, eyes never leaving his face. Confused and slightly turned on, Jim can’t think of any words to say and only walks backwards until his back meets a wall and he realises Spock has effectively crowded him into a corner of the room.

Jim swallows hard, ignoring the way his heart is at his throat.

‘Spock?’ he asks tentatively. ‘Are you like…going to punch me?’

Spock ignores the attempted jibe and steps slightly closer, crowding into Jim’s space even more. Jim can see the dark fan of his eyelashes, the way the lamp in his room traces his features, momentarily distracted by the glow glancing off his cheekbones and the gentle curve of his bottom lip.

‘Jim, allow me to explain something,’ Spock says, looking at him with faint amusement – as if he can tell where Jim’s thoughts had wandered off to. 

He nods weakly, not quite trusting his voice. 

‘When I came into contact with the pollen on Galilei IV, it seems that a substance in the chemical makeup of the plant has considerably enhanced my telepathy.’

The look on Jim’s face evidently prompts Spock to elaborate further.

‘While I am not quite certain on the exact nature or extent of the enhancement, I seem to be able to perceive the emotions of others through colours.’

Complete confusion floods Jim’s face and he frowns uncomprehendingly at Spock, all apprehension of a potential confrontation evaporated as he tried to process the information.

‘When you smile,’ Spock continues, ‘– when you laugh, it is blue. It is almost like the sound is solidifying into colour, a crystallised blue I feel I can almost touch. It is the same colour as your eyes.’

‘When you are frightened, when you are anxious and worried about the outcome of a mission, when you are hedging your bets and bluffing, Jim, it is yellow. Sharp and fearful but lined with courage.’

Spock, suddenly closer than before, reaches out and touches his wrist, gently, and traces up to his shoulders. ‘I can see all of it, here, and here.’

Where Spock’s fingers meet his skin, Jim shivers. He wonders if Spock is doing this to prove a point – if he was worried that Jim wouldn’t believe him.

‘When the leader of Delta Nova II lied about their intentions, his words turned into grey ash and smoke. I could see it, but you would never have believed me.’

Spock shushes Jim with a finger to his lips when he opens his mouth to protest. Jim’s eyes widen in response, and almost imperceptibly, Spock hears his heartbeat stutter.

‘When you look at me, Jim. When you look at me the way you do when you think I do not notice, I see a particular colour.’ 

Too shocked for words, Jim’s chest heaves, his breath coming out in short unsteady bursts, blinking at Spock in disbelief.

‘And on the night of your birthday, what I saw…was unlike any other.’

Spock stops then, and looks at Jim with – was it nervousness? Spock has never looked at him like that before.

His heart is hammering in his chest and there is a distant ringing in his head and Jim can barely breathe for thinking about where Spock was going with this.

 _I would have never told you about my feelings,_ _except I think you might feel the same way._

Jim’s mind blanks for a brief few seconds, absolutely stunned that any of this is happening at all. 

Spock hesitates, mistaking his stunned silence for something else, and it makes complete sense in Jim’s mind to show Spock just how okay he is with the whole situation by taking a step forward and pressing a kiss squarely on his lips.

Spock freezes the instant their lips meet – Jim’s breath catches in his throat – and then he’s kissing Jim back without an ounce of reservation, raking long fingers through his hair and any coherent thought processes Jim had left disintegrates into a pool of heat low in his belly when Spock pulls Jim against him, licking into his mouth with long, hungry strokes.

Jim finds himself gasping for breath when they break apart, shocked at just how _much_ he is feeling and Spock’s mouth is immediately on him again, sucking a bruise into where his neck meets his shoulders and Jim moans against the bend of his jaw.

He breathes Spock in, a soft inhale against Spock’s cheek and thinks _God, more, please_ and maybe he said that out loud because Spock is kissing him again with a fierce intensity, tilting his head up; tongue flitting across the shear of his teeth.

Jim is dizzy, lightheaded, completely lost in the feeling – hands sliding across Spock’s shoulder blades, raking down his ribcage and he feels completely out of control of his own mind, heart in overdrive and breath shaking out of him with desire as Spock cradles his face with one hand and just _kisses_ him, deep, thorough and wanting.

Spock tastes like what safety feels, like warm sunlight, sweet Romulan wine and between the dull roar that rings in his ears and the surge of his heartbeat Jim finds himself unable to stop touching, pulling at Spock’s shirt, needing to feel more of Spock’s warmth, needing the feeling of skin against skin.

Words are falling out of his mouth before he can stop them, babbled phrases of _please_ and _spock_ and _don’t stop_ and suddenly hands are pushing him backwards until his knees meet the edge of Spock’s bed and then his shirt is yanked off his shoulders and Spock is touching him with a look on his face like he can’t bear to stop and Jim pulls him in for another kiss and then he is on his back and Spock’s hands are still on him and his skin _burns_ with need like he has never felt before.

Spock’s eyes are darker than Jim has ever seen.  

With one fluid motion Spock strips the shirt off his chest and practically hisses when Jim pulls Spock down flush against him, a searing line of shared heat and Jim can’t resist, can’t wait – and then it’s Spock’s turn to gasp when Jim hooks a leg around Spock’s hip and _rolls_ his hips upwards, nails digging insistently into the line of Spock’s waist, moaning at the contact and the sweet friction he feels against Spock’s own hardness.

He can’t help repeating the motion, rutting helplessly against Spock’s thigh, thoughts clouded by heat and pure _need_ , pressing wet openmouthed kisses against Spock’s throat as he trembles against Jim, like he’s feeling too much all at once and Jim is trying to shove his hands down Spock’s pants like a teenager, trying to touch as much skin as possible, revelling in this feeling –

_God, you look so good like this, Spock, wanna see you naked, want you so bad, you have no idea, want you to fuck me until I can’t walk, please -_

Jim has a bad habit of running his mouth when he’s so turned on he can barely see, and he doesn’t realize he’s said any of that out loud until Spock’s movements still and he is staring at Jim like he’s seeing him for the first time. 

A few heartbeats pass, and Jim almost starts to apologise for the outburst when Spock makes a strangled sound and practically rips the rest of Jim’s clothes off him.

‘Oh,’ Jim says weakly as Spock is suddenly hovering over him with a dangerous look on his face.

And then Spock is leaning in, his words fogging hot against the slope of Jim’s neck when he asks if Jim’s sure in a low, dark voice tinged with desire and Jim is shivering, arousal spiking as he nods _yes, yes, please yes_ and a breathless kind of snarl tears from Spock’s throat as he wraps a hand around Jim’s erection, already wet with precome, and twists his wrist sharply.

Jim can’t help the moan that escapes him that time, thready and high with need as his hips buck against Spock’s hand and he needs to touch Spock, needs it more than breath itself and he is rambling again as his hands stroke hotly across the slope of Spock’s stomach, feeling the taut muscle ripple beneath his touch and lost in his own pleasure – _yes, yes, ah, so good, so fucking good- oh, god, spock don’t you dare stop_ – his voice completely wrecked, already cracking halfway through his moans as Spock fixes him with a burning gaze.

Spock takes his hands off Jim for a second, and distantly Jim hears the rattle of a drawer closing - then, the sound of Spock shifting, clever fingers clicking shut a bottle cap. The only warning he gets is a sharp intake of breath when Spock settles between his legs and – ‘fuck,’ Jim chokes out hoarsely – a finger, cool and slick with lubricant slides inside him.

Spock is still watching him with alarming intensity and when Jim meets his gaze the barely-restrained heat and want in his dark eyes hits Jim like a speeding train and he moans because he can no longer help himself. One finger becomes two, then three, and in the muddled haze he was in, Jim belatedly realises he completely underestimated the strength of Spock’s self control as he quickly reduced to a writhing mess on Spock’s bed, voice broken down into soft, insistent whimpers punctuated with the occasional moan every time Spock thrusts his fingers inside at just the right angle.

‘Spock,’ he manages, trying to focus through the haze of overwhelming arousal, ‘ _Spock_ , can you just fuck me already, _please_ , I need – ’

The rest of his sentence melts into a low moan as Spock’s control visibly crumbles at last and nails dig into his hips as Spock finally, _finally_ starts to slide inside. He is moving gently, careful not to hurt Jim, but despite this Jim has to bite his lip to stop crying out, the feeling of _too much_ balanced on a knife’s edge of pain and pleasure.

Spock looks just as overwhelmed as he feels, breathing hard as he rakes his fingers over Jim’s chest and leaves wet, biting kisses along Jim’s collarbone. There's a moment where Jim's breath evens and just kind of _looks_ at Spock, whose cheeks are flushed a delicate green, his mouth slightly open and well-kissed, and Jim thinks he's never seen anything quite so beautiful.

It makes him smile stupidly wide, to think that this is something Jim has to himself, to think that Spock shares the depth of feeling he has - but before he could say anything, Spock, as if he knew what Jim was thinking, reaches down to grab Jim by his jaw and tilts him into a deep, searing kiss as he slides himself fully inside with a single thrust and a shuddering gasp.

He swallows Jim’s breathless moan before it leaves his lips and Jim’s body is thrumming with need, almost too much but not enough all at once and he is too far gone to even feel slightly bothered by how much he is begging – ‘god, Spock, you look so good like this, you have no idea, you feel so good, I want, I want, please,’ Jim babbles as he shifts his hips, mindlessly trying to get Spock to _move._

Spock’s eyes flash dangerously with darkened heat in the dim light and Jim is no longer sure who made the strangled shout that he heard when Spock finally pulls back and _slams_ against him, knocking all breath from his lungs and Jim almost completely blacks out from the incredible pleasure, moaning and arching his back wantonly as Spock effortlessly  _bends_ him in half, folding himself over Jim as he thrusts in and out like he couldn't stop if he tried.

Jim is beyond words, beyond sense, barely even remembering his full name as he claws desperately at Spock, trying to get him impossibly closer, chanting his name, sweat slick skin sliding against him and blood rushing in his ears.

Spock is panting, hands gripping Jim’s thighs and still looking at Jim with a surprisingly tender expression, like he could do this forever, like he’ll never get sick of watching Jim moan and writhe as Spock fucks him through the mattress – and Jim feels a sudden rush of intense affection and it’s Spock’s turn to groan when Jim grabs Spock by the wrist and shoves Spock's hand on the right side of his face and says _please, please I want to see_ and Spock's eyes are so bright when his fingertips fumble for Jim's psi points.

Suddenly Jim is falling and reaching all at once; he gasps as Spock’s voice is filling his mind and it’s a crash of jumbled emotions and images and thoughts - he can  _feel_ the depth of Spock's feelings for him like a tidal wave washing over him; feels the bone-deep devotion Spock is projecting over the rest of his thoughts as they move together, a tangle of limbs and sweat and pure heat and he tries to reciprocate, to open his mind and show Spock just how much he wants this right back - when Spock's thrusts pick up speed and he's shuddering and Jim can feel his climax building white-hot in their mental link.

Before he has time to react a hand comes between them to stroke Jim and Spock's presence is washing over him again and he feels the whine of pleasure that escapes his throat before he hears it and he is so close, so close -  _come for me, ashal-veh,_ Spock whispers without words and Jim is lost, arcing off the bed as his orgasm rips through him, coming in stripes on his own chest as Spock shakes with the force of his own climax, bowing over Jim and shuddering once before gracelessly pulling out and curling into Jim on his bed, loose-limbed and out of breath. 

When his breath evens out Jim turns and reaches for him, pulling Spock closer as he tangles their legs together. 

'You know,' Jim murmurs into Spock's hair, secretly thrilled that Spock hasn't pulled away and instead is pressing himself closer, nosing into his shoulder.

'Maybe we should go back to that blue planet and get some more flowers.'

 

\--

 

A week later, Sulu makes the extraordinary discovery with his botany team that the blue pollen gathered from the local flowers on Galilei IV – after many tests and experiments – have shown to contain compounds that induce mild hallucinogenic reactions in humans. They also appear to heighten receptivity to the emotional states of others.

 

Spock, for his part, says absolutely nothing.

 

 

\--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UGH I AM SO DAMN RUSTY AT WRITING UGH i am going to just post this and not look at it for a while hahahaha
> 
> ANYWAY wow, it’s literally been like two years since i last wrote a fic and i've never really written?????? outright sex before????? so i'm sorry if it's really bad hahaha 
> 
> ON ANOTHER NOTE, i wanna write more but i'm super out of ideas so if u wanna talk to me add me @ schpocks on tumblr!!!


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